


Hair Raising

by d_a_f_punk



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Crack, F/F, Haircuts, Humor, I Don't Even Know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 13:27:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12458748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d_a_f_punk/pseuds/d_a_f_punk
Summary: In which Lord Agnethe desperately needs a haircut.





	Hair Raising

The mirror was too close to Agnethe’s desk.

It had seemed like such a good idea when the study was decorated. A mirror on the far wall would reflect the entryway, subtly allowing Ag to observe without being observed at work in the far corner. 

Unfortunately, every time she saw a glimpse of movement or flash of color, her attention was redirected to the mirror… and looking in the mirror forced her to look at the haircut. 

As a slave, she’d worked hard to keep herself out of the pleasure markets. The cybernetics obstructing her eyes had helped, and so had her scribe skills; however, there were some who liked their “scribes” to perform double duty. To escape this unwelcome fate, Ag had made herself look as boring as possible. No smiling; in fact, best to avoid facial expressions at all. No making alterations to provided work garments. And absolutely no hair ornamentation of any kind. To that end, she managed haircuts simply; find bowl, place on head, slice off all hair outside bowl. 

Heaving a sigh, Ag pushed away the notes she was attempting to decipher. She couldn’t focus at all with the haircut haunting her.

It was on Alderaan that she’d first noticed something amiss. Before that, she’d been too busy staying alive to pay attention to much else. But there, among the impeccably-dressed nobles and diplomats, she’d started to feel out of place. Sith’ari’s sake, even the soldiers were stylish there. And then she’d gone shopping, and seen that group of young nobles whispering and giggling and pointing at her. That wasn't a mistake they’d make again, to be sure, but their laughter still rankled.

She shoved her chair away from the desk, rose to her feet, and stared fiercely at her reflection in the hated mirror. Damn it, she thought. She had brought back the artifact she’d sought on Alderaan, escaped her master’s possession ritual, and become a Lord of the Sith- and she still looked like a servile little functionary from someone else's estate. This would not do.

***

Ashara Zavros was startled out of her meditation exercises by a slammed door and an angry Sith storming into the living room.“Ma- my lord?” stammered Ashara, standing quickly. “Is something wrong?” She took a few steps forward, starting back when a pair of vibroshears were brandished in her face.

“Ah, Jedi. You learned how to do everything at your Academy, didn’t you? Does that extend to cutting hair, by some happy chance?” Ag’s flippant tone was somewhat belied by the intensity with which she gripped the shears. Ashara failed to respond immediately, staring fixedly at the almost-weapon in her new master’s outstretched hand. A brief silence fell upon the room.

Lowering the scissors, Ag sharply cleared her throat. “Well? Do your many useful skills extend to proper haircuts? Or do the Jedi pretend to be unconcerned with such things? And don’t tell me it’s not a pretense, I’ve seen knights on the HoloNet in hairstyles that would take two assistants at least an hour to do.”

Ashara blinked, trying to process the information that had just been fired at her. “I… no, my lord, I’m afraid I never learned anything about hair.” The tiniest hint of a smirk appeared at the corners of her mouth as she indicated her montrals and lekku. “Those lessons were generally reserved for those of us who would find them, ah, useful.”

For a split second, Ag looked as if she were about to start shouting. Then she chuckled. “Fair enough. And I’m glad to see you might have a sense of humor in there somewhere. Do try to develop it further.”

Ashara bowed, smiling. “If you think it best, my lord.”

 

***

Andronikos Revel laughed out loud at the question. “Sith, have you seen me? I can shave your head clean, if that’s what you want, but that’s about it.” His gaze turned appraising. “Might not look half bad on you, matter of fact. Want to give it a try?”

“I sincerely hope you’re joking, pirate.” Her expression was stern, but there was warmth in her voice.

“Might be, might be. Don’t you Sith have someplace you go for that? Some kind of big, imposing temple where they grovel at you and cut your hair with lightsabers?” 

“Honestly? I haven’t a clue. My training didn’t extend to the more mundane realities of life as a Sith, I’m afraid.” 

“No? What did they teach you in that place?”

Ag smiled ruefully. “Not much.”

“Well, what about one of the normal places, then? Gotta be a barber ‘round somewhere.”

“Really? Our next destination is Hoth, you know.”

“Stranger things have happened, Sith.”

 

***

There was not, in fact, a hairdresser in the frozen wastes. The haircut was getting longer, falling into her eyes and getting snarled in her cybernetics. Ag yanked the mirror off the wall, propped it precariously against a stack of artifact cases, and stared once more at the mess reflected there. If she wanted the thing done, she'd have to do it herself. It would really help if she knew what she was doing, though. 

“Apprentice!” trilled a voice from the doorway. “Do I hear that you’re finally doing something about that dreadful haircut?”

Ag nearly jumped out of her skin. A few sparks of electricity traveled from her fingers through the shears in her hand, leaving sizzle marks on the desk debris. She’d forgotten - with the mirror down, there was no view of the door.

Zash clicked her tongue disapprovingly. It was a mannerism that looked and sounded entirely wrong on the Dashade body she inhabited. “Oh, apprentice. Sith do not use parlor tricks to stay aware of their surroundings. Use the Force to sense the approach of others.” She paused, sizing up the situation in the study. “And don’t you dare attempt to do this yourself. You’ll be hiding under a helmet for weeks.” She stuck out a clawed hand. “I should still be able to work a pair of shears, my dear. Let me.”


End file.
